


Strings Attached

by usuallysunny



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Lucifer is a cunning linguist, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Set sometime in the earlier seasons, Voyeurism, pardon the pun, the devil lends a helping hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: Chloe Decker has done some stupid things in her life—but telling Lucifer Morningstar that her ex-husband never offered to go down on her… that has to be the worst.The bastard’s eyes practically light up."I could show you, if you like," he purrs.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 35
Kudos: 810





	1. Chapter 1

Chloe Decker has done some stupid things in her life.

She’s made rash decisions at work, rushing into crime scenes head first, confronting dangerous suspects with nothing but a badge and her gun for company. She’s ruined countless dinners by forgetting to put the timer on the oven, and forgotten birthdays and even the day of the week. Trixie’s the most important thing in the world to her, but having a baby in a vain attempt to fix your failing marriage… that was a little stupid too. 

But telling Lucifer Morningstar that said ex-husband never offered to go down on her… that has to be the stupidest thing Chloe has ever done.

The bastard’s eyes practically _light_ up.

“Never?” he repeats, that honey smooth accent tinged with outrage.

Chloe shifts in her seat, hearing the faint squeak of plush leather, before she clears her throat. Her finger trails along the edge of her wine glass, balanced precariously on one knee, and she tries not to look at him. It’s difficult. Sometimes she can’t _stand_ the man, but there’s just something magnetic about Lucifer that commands your attention. When he walks into a room, everyone's head turns. He’s the sort of man people gravitate towards and they always want to be near him and when he speaks, they _listen._

Chloe hates that she’s no different. She hates that she _isn’t_ immune to his charms at all, despite his insistence otherwise. 

“Well, not _never…_ ” she tries, struggling for the right words, “he did sometimes…”

 _Rarely, if ever,_ is what she really wants to say, but she’s very much said _enough._

Lucifer blinks.

“On your birthday?” he asks dryly, “or when you specifically asked?”

Chloe winces, the words hitting close to the mark. She obviously doesn’t hide it well because Lucifer blinks again and then starts to laugh.

“Oh Detective,” he chuckles, sounding far too delighted, “you poor thing.”

She feels herself flush, a mixture of embarrassment and anger tinging her cheeks.

“It’s not funny,” she grumbles.

“I beg to differ.”

Her eyes fly to his, her gaze narrowing at the pure glee in those brown orbs.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

He arches a brow.

“Not at all, darling,” he insists but his tone says the opposite and he coolly sits back in his chair, his fingers lightly clasping his whiskey glass on the arm. Chloe watches moonlight stream in through the huge window and glint off the ring on his finger. “I’m merely… surprised.”

“Surprised?”

He tips his head to the side.

“I suppose both surprised and _not_ surprised,” he corrects himself, “not surprised that Detective Douche is a selfish, _useless_ lover but surprised that he’s found a way to disappoint me even more.”

“ _You’re_ disappointed?” she grumbles, casting her eyes down to stare furiously at her wine glass, “imagine how I feel.”

She feels, more than hears, his husky chuckle. It reverberates inside her chest, shooting straight between her thighs. She flushes again, hating how her body reacts to him. Even putting aside his ridiculous insistences that he’s the _literal_ devil, Lucifer is dangerous. He could be so charming, it was easy to forget that.

“I wouldn’t want to,” he says, “and I wouldn’t have to. My sexual encounters are always mutually satisfying.”

She scoffs, thinking of just how many lovers he must have had. Surely _one_ of them must have left unfulfilled, surely he didn’t… do _that…_ to all of them?

She lifts her eyes and a brow to match.

“Always?”

He holds her gaze, intense and unyielding.

“Always.”

She shifts again, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“So you like to…” she swallows, hiding behind euphemism, “do… _that_?”

The grin that lights up his face almost makes her believe he really _is_ the devil.

“Love it,” he purrs.

She fights back a shiver, suddenly struck by the notion that she’s in too deep. She shouldn’t have started this, she doesn’t know why she _did._ They were just talking, celebrating the end of another case, another job well done, and the questions had turned more personal. Talk had turned to sex, as it always bloody did with him, and she accidentally let slip that it had been a while since she’d had good sex at all.

Dan was fine. She had loved him in a way that was sensible and safe, and he’d given her Trixie, so she’d always love him more for that. But she had never felt that fire for him, the one she feels every time Lucifer looks at her. She had tried to smother it, to stop the flame, but it had raged inside her from the moment they met.

He’s speaking again before she can put her walls back up, seizing her momentary lapse for his own gain.

“Trust me, Detective,” his voice drops a note, low and delicious, “if you were mine, I’d spend every night with my face between those pretty thighs.”

Her cheeks burst into heat.

“Lucifer,” she hisses in a warning.

He just laughs.

“Honestly, I mean it. We’d get nothing done.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles.

“I can show you if you like,” he hums instead.

She crosses one leg over the other, not missing the way his eyes flicker down to follow the movement.

The air seems to thin out, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. The fact that they’ve wanted each other from the beginning hangs between them—the only difference is that he’s always been honest about it. He’s unapologetic about his desires; he takes what he wants. She doesn’t know why she’s so scared to do the same.

She feels lonely and sad and neglected and she knows he’d be good. He’d make it so good for her. She feels that iron clad control she keeps on herself start to disintegrate.

And he knows it.

“I can see those cogs in your head turning,” he says gently, leaning forward in his chair, "stop thinking, Detective. It needn’t be that serious.”

She narrows her eyes, wondering if she could indulge, if she could allow herself this and not have it complicate everything. If she could have it without it meaning _more_.

“Really?” she asks sceptically.

“Well, you know I want every part of you,” he says casually, “but I’ll settle for having you scream my name for now.”

She still finds it jarring, how frank and openly honest he is about wanting her. He’s the most infuriating, confusing, _enthralling_ man she’s ever met.

“So you would… do that for me… without wanting anything in return?”

“I would consider it a public service,” he says solemnly, “besides… it’s not like I’d get _nothing_ in return. I think I’d rather enjoy it.”

She swallows, placing her wine glass down on the coffee table as _“I can’t believe I’m about to do this”_ becomes a mantra inside her head.

“Just a way to scratch an itch,” she says, “no strings attached, friends with benefits.”

His grin is positively sinful.

“Mmm, better the devil you know and all that,” he purrs, “if you want to add another cliché.”

She rolls her eyes.

She stands, watching him stand too.

He takes a step towards her, his hands clasped behind his back. When they’re toe to toe, the air thrums between them like a living thing. His eyes drop to her mouth, his brow arching smoothly.

“Shall we, then?”

He tips his chin to the bedroom.

Chloe shakes her head.

“Too personal,” she says, ignoring the subtle way he scoffs and rolls his eyes, but she needs boundaries, “the piano.”

His brow cocks again, a delighted expression flickering over his features.

“Naughty girl,” he scolds playfully, then his hands are on her waist. She bites back a gasp, forcing her gaze to stay on his face, as he walks her backwards and then lifts her onto the piano.

She’s sitting on the edge, the keys below her to her left, and she can feel his ringed fingers creeping up her thighs.

“Spread your legs for me, my darling.”

She does shiver this time, a shudder tracing up her spine.

She slowly spreads her thighs, her throat moving as she swallows. His eyes darken, pupils blown to black. His gaze flickers from her eyes to her mouth and back again and when he leans in, she places a hand on his chest.

“No kissing,” she says, “boundaries.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m about to have my mouth buried in your cunt, sweetheart,” he says bluntly.

She flushes.

“ _Still_.”

He rolls his eyes again but there’s a smirk pulling at his mouth.

“As you wish.”

He quickly drops a kiss to her shoulder, pulling back to grin at her. He pushes her dress up until it pools around her waist and hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He drags them down her legs and then it’s her turn to roll her eyes as he tucks them into his back pocket.

She holds her breath, heat covering her skin like a blanket, as his fingers finally, _finally,_ slip between her thighs.

She gasps at the contact, so long overdue. It’s just a ghost of a touch, the pads of two fingers swiping gently up her slit and spreading her wetness, but it’s enough to make her toes curl.

Her thighs spread wider, as though under a spell, and he steps between them. His hand stays between her legs as his fingers play her like the piano underneath her, an instrument he mastered years ago. His mouth is hot at her ear.

“Do you get this wet for every man you hate, Detective?” he asks in that low burr, his tone dripping with desire.

She bites back a moan.

“I don’t hate you,” she says, “I never hated you.”

He hums, the vibration rolling from his chest.

“Yes, it appears you’ve wanted this,” he circles her clit teasingly with the tip of one finger before he pushes that finger inside her, “you’re soaked, darling.”

“I do,” she says because she’s past the point of lying, of caring, “I’ve always wanted you.”

 _That was never the problem,_ she thinks, _the problem is I can’t stop._

It’s _obvious,_ he can’t be surprised, but the words make him falter nonetheless. It’s a tiny chip in that impenetrable armour and it gives her a thrill. She wants to affect him as much as he affects her. Lucifer smells weakness like blood in the water—and she wants that power too.

“You can’t even imagine the things I want to do to you,” he mutters darkly, pushing another finger inside her.

She moans, tipping her head back as he fucks her gently with them. He’s preparing her but she hardly needs it. She’s been wet from the moment he murmured _if you were mine._

His mouth traces along her sharp cheekbone, summoning goosebumps to the surface of her skin. Her eyes are closed but she hears him as he casually hooks his foot around the piano stool and drags it to him. Then his fingers are slipping out of her and leaving her achingly empty.

He urges her backwards to rest on her forearms and then he sits down.

“Relax,” he purrs when she stiffens, “don’t I always take care of you?”

She swallows, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, and she supposes the anticipation is part of the pleasure but she’s on _fire._ The very, very few times Dan did this, he always rushed straight in. He was either too eager or too sloppy or too impatient to draw out her pleasure. Lucifer is the opposite. His fingers drift over her like they have all the time in the world, his eyes taking her in like she’s a meal to be devoured. She gets the feeling he never rushes anything.

He leans down to blow cool air over her wet cunt, making her thighs tremble. She holds her breath, a strangled moan falling from her lips when he pauses to drop a globule of spit directly over her pulsing clit.

She’s very close to begging by the time he finally swipes his tongue over her.

Her breath falls from her in broken pants, the pleasure blinding as she tips her head back. She stares at the intricate lights on his ceiling, her vision blurred, before she has to screw them shut again. Her thighs instinctively close around his head but he digs his fingers into them, keeping her spread for him. The metal of his ring is a cool balm against her burning skin. His tongue circles her clit unbearably slowly before he slowly strokes it up and down.

“ _God,_ ” she sobs before she can stop it.

He just hums, the vibration rippling across her cunt.

“Not quite.”

She purses her lips to stop from saying it again.

She dares to look at him, still propped up on her forearms. The sight makes her moan, a flash of black hair against tanned thighs. His eyes are black as he holds her gaze, closes his mouth over her clit and sucks—hard. She bucks, a desperate moan falling from her, her nails scratching at his precious piano.

She knows he notices, but he doesn’t care, his mouth curving into a smirk against her heated flesh.

He keeps one hand splayed on her inner thigh, holding her open for him, while two fingers of the other slide back inside her. His hot tongue licks at her clit as he strokes her walls, crooking his fingers in a come-hither motion. He finds that spongy spot that makes her legs go weak and focuses on it.

“So responsive, dear Detective,” he murmurs, keeping his fingers inside her but lifting away for a moment. His mouth and beard are wet with her. It makes her flush even more. “Such a good girl for me.”

She cries out, that tight coil in the pit of her stomach forming. She’ll be good, she’ll be bad, she’ll be _anything—_ as long as he keeps touching her like that. He returns his mouth to her.

“Lucifer,” she moans finally, her breath hitching in her throat.

His name seems to spark something wild in him, a thick growl rumbling from his throat.

“Say it again,” he almost begs, “ _Chloe.”_

His tongue wraps around her name sinfully, he wields it like a weapon, and with one more crook of his fingers and lash of his tongue, her orgasm rockets through her. She doesn’t say his name, she _sobs_ it. She rides the wave, her hips bucking against his face. He groans as a fresh flood of wetness gushes from her, soaking his beard. He keeps his fingers inside her as the other arm slings over her stomach to keep her still. He laps at her as she comes back down to earth.

Through the haze in her mind, she registers the grit of his stubble against her inner thigh as he wipes his mouth. His lips and chin are still wet with her when he stands and tugs her limbless body up. He urges her arms around his neck, stepping between her bracketed thighs, and grins at the lazy smile on her face.

His smirk falters, however, when she hazily breathes—

“Kiss me.”

She doesn’t know why she said it. All she knows is she _wants_ it, despite her half-hearted insistence on _boundaries._ Deep down, she knows they passed the point of no return a long time ago.

His stormy eyes flicker from her own to her mouth and back again, and then he obeys.

He leans in and presses his lips to hers.

She sighs into the kiss, opening her mouth when he swipes his tongue across her bottom lip. She blossoms under his touch and tastes herself on his tongue, tart and sweet. He’s a good kisser, as she knew he would be. He’s had enough bloody practice, after-all. His mouth slants over hers, just the right amount of push and pull, the right amount of teeth and tongue.

His hands come up to cradle her face, angling her for his kiss. Their mouths slot together, eerily perfect, like she was _made_ for him, like every part of her has always had his name on it. It’s a strange feeling, somehow unsettling and familiar at the same time, and she sighs his name again when she breaks away.

He quirks a brow and opens his mouth to speak but Chloe quickly places the pads of two fingers against his lips.

“Don’t ruin it,” she whispers uneasily, wary of his silver tongue. She can just imagine how smug he must be feeling, all the puns and dirty words and teases he wants to let loose.

But his expression is deadly serious when he gives her a gentle smile and simply murmurs—

“You’re stunning.”

—against her fingers.

She swallows.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispers back, something new stretching out in the gap between them, fragile and aching.

The corner of his mouth quirks as he slips back into his usual carefree persona.

“Well, we all know that,” he quips.

He takes a step back, giving her some space. She pushes her dress down so it covers her, sans the panties which are still in his back pocket, and doesn’t miss how he winces and adjusts himself as he turns around.

She bites her bottom lip, thinking she should return the favour, thinking they’re too far gone now. She’d hoped she could just scratch an itch and that would be the end of it, but she’s still on fire. She still wants him as much as she did an hour ago— _more_.

So she reaches for him and curls her fingers around his belt.

He arches a brow as she tugs him towards her.

His arms remain by his sides as she scoots forward on the piano again and brackets him between her thighs. She slowly starts to unbuckle his belt, her fingers brushing over the bulge in his expensive trousers and making him groan. She’s ignited by the sound, chasing it so she can hear it again.

“You don’t have to,” he insists, “this was about you.”

“I know,” she says because she _does,_ “but I wouldn’t feel right if I didn't return the favour.”

He smirks, something dark and dangerous.

“How very charitable.”

She tugs his belt out of the loops, the clink as it hits the floor penetrating the charged silence. 

“Very,” she agrees as she slips a hand inside his trousers.

There’s a flash of white as he hisses through his teeth.

“Show me what you’ve got, Detective,” he challenges.

She plans to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Lucifer fic! And it's all smut, OBVIOUSLY. Hope you enjoyed!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with a second chapter because I have no willpower whatsoever! Enjoy!

The years come and go and they don't talk about it.

Sometimes they come close. There was that time she got blinding drunk and basically threw herself at him and to her utter shock, he said _no_. He made some typical Lucifer quips and covered it all up with a joke, but she knows he did it because she wasn't in her right mind and she respects him all the more for it. She _wants_ him more for it. She hates how much she wants him.

Then there was that time they almost kissed, framed in the warm glow of moonlight and her courtroom confession, and the time they did.

She still remembers how it felt—the taste of him, the feel of him, his touch. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed it, how much she'd longed for it since that night. She can still taste his mouth, all whiskey and smoke. She can still feel the ocean breeze, the grit of his stubble under her palm as she cupped his cheek. She thought they had turned a corner, that things would change, but then she had walked into an empty penthouse, white sheets covering the furniture, and he had walked into the bullpen with a stripper on his arm.

She'd constructed her walls high around her after that. She refused to let him in, to feel that horrible ache in the pit of her stomach again. She keeps him at arm's length, a purely professional relationship, even though it hurts her and she's pretty sure it hurts him too.

And when Marcus Pierce asks her on a date, he's handsome and nice and she can't think of a good reason to say _no_.

She says _yes_ but hates how at that very moment, it's Lucifer's face that she sees.  
  


* * *

  
Her first date with Marcus is fine.

He drinks, she doesn't, and when he asks to see her again, she thinks _why not_. It's not so much that she _wants_ to, but more that it gives her something to do. She's made a commitment to something and she needs to see it through.

So she grows closer to Marcus and drifts further from Lucifer.

There's an awkward undercurrent rumbling between them, a tension that wasn't there before. She wonders what sort of newfound torture this is, that he doesn't want her but doesn't want anyone else to have her either.

When he punches Marcus in the middle of a crowded Lux, sending him flying with a force that she swears isn't human, she finally snaps.

She goes to the Lieutenant first, flinching at the angry way he rips his arm out of her touch like she's burned him before he storms off into the night. When she walks back into Lux, she feels numb and Lucifer is already at the bar, casually nursing a fresh whiskey. She watches his mouth curl into a sinful smirk as Maze hands him the glass.

The alcohol in her own veins makes her determined, and her anger even more so. She marches over to him and gives him a little shove. He barely moves. She thinks he probably works out all the time, the vain prick.

He turns to her with a little arch of his brow, a smug smile toying at his lips.

"How can I help you, Detective?"

Chloe narrows her eyes, her anger flaring like wildfire inside her. She doesn't answer, but grabs him instead, ignoring his throaty chuckle of surprise as he lets her drag him away from the bar. She's not entirely sure where she's going, her fury blinding her, and his delighted laughter ringing in her ears only stokes the fire.

She pulls him down a corridor, pushing him into an empty room.

"Detective, I wouldn't if I were you—"

"Shut up," she snarls, interrupting him.

There's a clicking noise—and a buzz?—as she shuts the door behind them and Lucifer just laughs again.

"You're _really_ not going to want to be in this room, darling."

"Don't try to distract me," she snaps, jabbing a finger into his chest, "and don't call me that."

He gives an amused grin, holding his hands up in mock surrender before he clasps them behind his back.

"Just where _exactly_ do you get off?" she starts her rant, her anger only rising at the calm expression on his face, "you _hit_ him!"

"Not to go all schoolgirl on you but he hit me first."

Chloe narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over the chest.

"Well... I didn't see that," she sniffs stubbornly, averting her gaze.

"Doesn't mean it didn't happen," he fires back.

She opens her mouth to argue again but closes it when she falls short.

"You know I don't lie," he adds gently, pointedly.

She sighs, clenching her jaw, because she _does_ know that.

"Why would he hit you?" she asks instead.

Lucifer pauses and then it's his turn to clench his jaw.

She watches a muscle in his cheek twitch. He shakes his head.

"I'm not in the business of telling tales," he murmurs eventually, "it doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

He blinks at her and scoffs when he realises she's not letting it go.

"He was... gloating."

"About what?"

He gives another heavy sigh. "You. Your dates."

She stills, feeling confused and pained and a little awkward.

"What did he say?"

"It _doesn't matter_ ," he repeats, his accent a little more pronounced as it takes on a fiercer tone, "he was being a prick so I said some things I probably shouldn't have. I said how you were only going on dates with him to annoy me and that he would always be second best. Then he hit me and I hit him and he stormed off and you grabbed me and _here we are_."

He sends her a devastating grin, likely attempting to dissolve her anger. She shifts on her feet, determined not to let it work. It normally does. Lucifer is annoyingly charming, he wears a smile like a weapon, and he's so good at calming her down she often forgets why she was angry with him in the first place.

"Why would you rise to it?" she murmurs then, her skin prickling with unease, "why does it even bother you?"

Really, she should be asking Pierce why he would start the argument but she finds she doesn't really care. She cares what Lucifer has to say, what he thinks and feels and why he does the things he does. She cares about _him_.

He drags his eyes to hers, dark and intense.

She swears the air shifts and changes.

"You know why," he says heavily.

Those three tiny words steal the breath from her lungs, her chest too tight. Suddenly, she's even angrier. She's angry at him for hiding the way he feels, for making her feel like he doesn't care, for ruining things between them. They have— _had—_ something special but he pulls away from her every time they get close and now it's too late.

She wants him to admit it.

She wants to break him like he's breaking her.

She goes to say something but the words die in her dry throat. She almost grabs that glass of whiskey he's still toying between his fingers.

Suddenly there's some giggling and the click of a latch as a door opens.

Chloe's head snaps to the side where, for the first time, she sees that the wall isn't a wall at all, but a two way mirror. A man and woman are stumbling into the adjoining room, their mouths connecting as they kiss hungrily.

Her eyes widen, her gaze sliding to Lucifer.

He raises a brow, his serious expression melting into one far more sinful.

"I told you you shouldn't have picked this room, Detective."

Her mouth runs dry, her gaze focused on the couple as though she's under a spell.

"What is this?"

He places his glass on the floor and takes a step towards her.

"Lux caters to all types of guests," he explains evenly, his hands still clasped behind his back, "with all types of desires. Kinks, fetishes... if you will. The building isn't comprised of just the dance floor and my penthouse. There are rooms everywhere. You happen to have dragged us into one of my favourites."

She swallows, her eyes focused on him as she tries not to look at the couple.

She thinks she knows, thinks she doesn't _want_ to know, but still, she asks—

"Which is?"

His smile is slow and devastating and _beautiful_.

"Voyeurism," his tongue wraps around the word before his dark eyes slide to the couple, "they know we're here. They get off on people watching them."

She keeps her reaction steady—even as her heart flutters wildly against her ribcage.

"How do they know?"

He tips his chin to the door.

"There's a red light that activates when you shut the door."

She blinks, her chest rising and falling as her breath quickens.

She can't resist looking at the couple and notices how their eyes keep darting to the glass. They smirk, all flashing eyes and bottom lips rolled between their teeth, and then they're on each other again. They tear at each other's clothes, frantic and desperate, and Chloe can't breathe.

She feels, more than sees, Lucifer take a step towards her.

He approaches her carefully, like she's a startled deer about to bolt, but her feet are anchored to the floor.

The atmosphere thrums between them, white hot and electric.

"Say the word and we'll leave, Detective," he says smoothly, "you're in control."

If she could laugh she would—because she's never felt _less_ in control.

Still—she can't move, and something other than anger stirs in her gut. It's _desire_ , she realises, hot and intense, and she can't tear her eyes away from the couple. They're topless now, the woman's breasts hidden by a curtain of thick, auburn hair. It curls to her nipples, dusky rose and pink, and the man cups them in his large hands.

Lucifer holds heated eye contact with her for a beat before he places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her around. He walks them forwards until she's standing in-front of the glass and she can feel the heat of him behind her.

"Say it," he rasps, his breath hot and heavy in her ear.

A shudder traces down her spine.

"No," she says instead, lost to the feeling.

She feels the quirk of his smile against the shell of her ear.

"No?" he questions, needing her consent one more time.

She should leave. She should push him away and tell him this is inappropriate and that they're _friends_ and he's the one who insisted on that.

She should be thinking of Marcus.

She shouldn't want this.

She's not—and she does.

His honey smooth voice echoes in her mind as she remembers something he had said last time.

_Stop thinking, Detective._

So she does.

She pushes back into him, her blood firing at the little grunt of surprise it pulls from him.

"I want to stay," she spells it out for him.

"Good girl," he replies.

She almost whimpers.

He steps closer to her until she can feel him flush against her back. She can already feel a distinct bulge in his expensive trousers, pressing insistently against her, and her eyelids flutter as she slowly grinds against it. He lets out a hiss between his teeth, his hands flying up to grip her hips. Her heart pounds in her chest, so loud she's struck by the irrational fear he might hear it, and somewhere along the way, the couple in-front of them have lost their clothes.

She purses her lips to hold back her moan as the man kisses the woman's neck, rolling a nipple between his fingers.

She tips her head back, feels every hard lined muscle of her partner's chest.

Lucifer's hand starts to slowly slide up her sternum, his fingers splaying over her throat. The steel of his ring is cool against her burning skin. He gently dances his fingers up until they're pinching her cheek.

"No," he mutters, his grip firm as he tips her face forward, "watch them."

She bites back her moan at his dominant tone, the order rushing straight between her legs.

His other hand is sliding down her taut stomach.

It pauses at her waistband, his index finger casually tapping at the button of her jeans.

Her cheeks burst into heat when the man in-front of them drops to his knees and spreads the woman's thighs.

Memories flash before Chloe's eyes.

She can practically feel the cool surface of his piano, the softness of his hair between her fingers as she tugged, the hot slide of his tongue...

"You're remembering it, aren't you?" he reads her mind, his accented voice low and husky, "I bet she doesn't taste as good as you. You have the sweetest cunt."

Chloe does moan this time, a little choked sound. She makes the noise again when he easily flicks the button of her jeans open, pushes down the zipper, and slips his fingers inside her panties. He finds her hot and slick, already ready for him, and two fingers slowly spread her wetness.

His other hand gently squeezes her neck, adding a delicious pressure that has her clenching her thighs around his hand.

"It haunts me, you know," he murmurs, "that pretty noise you make when you cum."

He slips two fingers inside her wet channel and she chokes on a gasp.

" _Lucifer_."

"Yes, darling," he purrs, "just like that."

She shivers, clenching around his fingers as she watches the man in-front of her lick his partner. The woman's cries filter through the glass, a bit too theatrical for Chloe's taste but arousing nonetheless.

"Fuck, you're tight," Lucifer grunts into her ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise to the surface of her skin as his fingers still pump languidly into her, "you'd feel so good around my cock."

She whimpers at the words, the dirtiness of it and the whole situation stoking the flame inside her. Her eyes dart from the couple in-front of her down to the hand sliding in her panties and back again. She undulates her hips, fucking his hand and grinding back to feel his erection, his own desire for her.

"Can't you feel what you do to me?" he asks lowly, pushing back onto her, "what you've always done to me?"

She moans, a pressure building in the pit of her stomach.

"Always?" she asks.

"Always," he confirms fiercely, "I kept your panties, you know... like some sort of bloody pervert. You have no idea how many times I've touched myself, remembering that night. It's pathetic, really."

She remembers him tucking them into his back pocket before he buried his mouth between her thighs. The revelation of what he's done since has her burning up.

"Me too," she admits breathlessly, "I have too."

He bites out a curse into her hair.

His fingers are moving faster, alternating between sliding inside her and teasing her clit. The woman in-front of her is clearly close to coming, her thighs shaking around her partner's head.

"Break up with Pierce," he orders then, his voice quiet.

The mention of the other man should bring her crashing back to reality. It should turn her off. Instead, it spurs her on-because she craves the fire in Lucifer's eyes when he's jealous.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I won't fuck you until you do."

She sighs shakily, her orgasm forming in a hot ball at the base of her spine.

"Say it, Chloe," he practically begs, "say you will. _Please_."

The change in his tone, the slight flicker of vulnerability and the use of her name, has her chest tightening.

" _Yes_ ," she pants, a heavy realisation settling into her bones, "yes. I want you."

Even putting aside whatever... _this_... is, it's not fair for her to string Marcus along when her heart is somewhere else. It's right here, in this man's hands, and he's had it from the moment they met. There wasn't a thing she could do about it.

"Let me kiss you," he breathes, the thumb and index finger of the hand he doesn't have inside her gripping her cheeks. He turns and angles her face to his, his mouth brushing hotly against hers.

He waits for her frantic nod before he slants his mouth over hers.

He kisses her wildly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She moans into the kiss, revelling in his thick growl when she bites his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs. His fingers pump into her faster, mimicking the movement of their tongues, and when he pulls away, his pupils are blown to black. He doesn't lie, but even if he did, there could be no hiding how she affects him. It gives her a thrill.

She holds his heated gaze as she hears the woman orgasm, her climax outrageously loud.

"Cum for me," Lucifer orders her to follow, "I want to see you cum on my fingers as prettily as you came on my mouth."

Chloe obeys like the slave she is to his attention, her eyes rolling back as her orgasm rushes over her.

He holds her through it, murmuring praise, pouring his adoration into her.

He tells her she's beautiful and strong and perfect and _his_.

Tears prick at her eyes at the intensity of it, her thighs trembling around his hand.

She almost comes again at the sinful way he slides his fingers out of her body and into his mouth.

He sucks them clean as the other couple start to fuck. She shivers.

She'd almost forgotten they were there.

She watches Lucifer, her glazed eyes travelling from his handsome face to his expensive tailored suit, and for a moment, he's all she can see.

But then again—he's always been all she could see.  
  


* * *

  
Chloe breaks up with Pierce on the Monday.

He takes it well, hiding his disappointment behind a smile, and she feels guilty.

The feeling dissipates with the whistle of Lucifer's elevator as the doors slide open.

The first thing she hears is the piano, a pretty tune filling the penthouse. He's sitting at the stool, at the instrument she's never quite managed to look at in the same way, and his fingers glide gracefully over the ivory keys.

She folds her jacket over the bar and walks towards him, sliding a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens in surprise, the tune pausing with a faint echo as he turns around, his back to the keys. He smiles when he sees it's her.

"Detective," he drawls, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She decides she's done prolonging this.

She's done dancing around it and pretending it doesn't exist.

She's done pretending she doesn't want him.

"I broke up with Pierce."

A brief look of surprise flashes over his face.

"I'm sorry," he says, but it sounds more like a question.

"Are you?"

His mouth curves into a slow, soft smile.

"No, darling," he murmurs, "I'm not."

The pet name spreads warmth through her chest.

"I did it because I want you," she says explicitly, watching the movement of his throat as he swallows, "I want this. I don't want to be afraid anymore."

He spreads his legs and she steps between them. His hands wrap around the backs of her thighs.

"I've always wanted you, Chloe," he says, his tone warm and so _sure_ , "I've been an idiot. Forgive me."

She smiles, her fingertips coming up to touch his face. His lips part under her touch when her fingers drift over them. The intensity of his gaze takes her breath away. Her hands bury themselves in his hair, fingers threading through soft black curls, and then his deft fingers are unbuttoning her jeans.

She stops him, her hands curling around his wrists.

He glances up at her.

"I want to taste your cunt again," he says bluntly, almost petulantly.

She bites her bottom lip.

"You first this time," she demands—and then sinks to her knees.

He grins like the Devil he says he is.

She tries to be sexy as she slowly unbuttons his expensive trousers— _Tom Ford_ , she notices—and pulls his half-hard cock out. It's been years since she felt sexy and longer still since she's done this, but she thinks it's working because his muscles are taut underneath her, tense like a tightly coiled spring. When she glances up, she can see him watching her patiently. His eyes are a deep, warm brown—like storm clouds, she'd blurted out once, much to his amusement.

He's not laughing now, as she slowly strokes his cock to full attention.

When she leans down and puts her mouth around the head, there's a discordant crash as his elbows hit the keys.

She takes more of him in her mouth and glances up again. His breathing is slightly quicker, his muscles still tense under the strength of his restraint. He's without his jacket and waistcoat, the sleeves of his white shirt pulled up to his elbows, and his forearms look tanned and strong in the silver glow of moonlight.

One hand goes to his muscled thigh as the other wraps around his thick length, squeezing what her mouth can't fit. She hollows her cheeks and sucks the weeping head, tastes his pre-cum, somehow salty and sweet at the same time. His answering groan shoots straight between her thighs.

"That's it, darling," he croons appreciatively, his fingers curling into her loose hair, "just like that."

She hums at the praise, the vibrations rippling down his cock and making him shudder. She can feel his ring gently digging into her scalp as he guides her head up and down, helping her to find a rhythm. She learns what makes his fingers tighten, what makes him jerk slightly, and repeats it.

His other hand finds hers on his thigh and he entwines their fingers.

The intimate gesture makes her smile, her mouth still working on him. The penthouse is silent except for the lewd sounds of her slurping, stoking her desire. She rubs her thighs together to try and relieve the ache, her core clenching emptily around thin air.

She opens her mouth wider, taking more of him in. She flattens her tongue around the thick vein that runs down his length, repressing her gag reflex as he hits the back of her throat.

"Fuck," he mutters roughly, his hips rolling as he fucks her mouth. She glances up again, sees the strong muscles of his corded throat as he tips his head back. She feels a pressure building between her legs, her own desire licking inside her like flames.

His sexual prowess is hardly a secret and it _does_ something to her, having an effect on a man such as him.

She feels him twitch and swell in her mouth, his release clearly close.

His fingers flex in her hair.

"Chloe, I'm—" he starts to warn her, his accent low and deep, "—I'm gonna cum."

She hums around him, squeezing his hand in a silent gesture to let go.

He curses again, sucking in a breath over his teeth as he comes. She moans as thick ropes of white bathe her throat, swallowing everything he'll give her, her mouth sliding along his length. She revels in the way he shudders, his chest rising and falling with every rapid breath. When he's spent, she releases his cock, sitting back on her haunches.

He sits forward, his eyes flashing dark. His thumb swipes against the edge of her mouth before it pushes her swollen lips apart. She realises what he's doing when she tastes his salty cum again. She must have missed a drop.

"Lucifer," she sighs, his wet thumb rubbing against her jaw.

"Come here," he husks in response, drawing a surprised gasp from her when he effortlessly pulls her into his arms. He stands, capturing her mouth in a heated kiss. It's all tongues, teeth, heat and passion, the floodgates opened.

"Bedroom," she breathes into his mouth, kissing him again as she walks him backwards. He smirks against her lips as he walks backwards up the stairs and pulls her with him. He turns them until she's sitting on the edge of the bed and he's standing. He's kicked his trousers off along the way and works on unbuttoning his shirt. She watches with her bottom lip rolled between her teeth and finds herself stunned when she notices he's already hard again.

"That was quick," she quips with an arched brow.

He sends her a sinful smirk.

"You've never slept with the Devil, Detective."

She rolls her eyes but reaches for him anyway, bringing him down to the bed. He covers her with his body and he's all marble, strong and smooth. She would be self conscious—he's far more experienced than she is, after-all—but there's something about the awed way he's looking at her that means she's not.

She spreads her thighs, cradling him between them. She's suddenly very aware that he's naked and she's fully clothed and she quickly remedies it, tugging her dress over her head. His mouth is buried in her neck then, the grit of his stubble sliding over his throat as he plants open mouthed kisses down the length of her flushed skin. His nimble fingers travel behind her back to unclasp her bra at the same time.

Once her breasts are exposed, a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold passes through her.

Her breath catches as he trails his mouth down, a flash of black curls against her breast. He lathes her nipple with his tongue before tugging it between his teeth. She moans, her hips canting, her fingers raking through his hair.

His mouth travels down further until he's placing an open mouthed kiss on her hipbone.

His fingers curl into the waistband of her panties. She holds her breath as he slowly pulls them down her legs.

His eyes darken, pupils blown to black, as he spreads her legs and looks at her glistening cunt.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he mutters, "I've dreamt about your pretty cunt."

She moans, her thighs trembling.

As much as she wants to feel his talented mouth on her again, she wants to feel him inside her more— _finally_.

" _Lucifer_."

His name stokes something wild in him.

"Yes, darling," he slides two fingers inside her, gently crooking them, "say my name."

She sobs it.

"Please," she begs, "fuck me, Lucifer."

He practically growls, climbing back up her body. He kisses her again, their tongues tangling in a dance they're quickly perfecting, and reaches over her to grab a condom from his nightstand. He sheathes his cock and lines it with her dripping entrance.

He holds her gaze as he slides inside her, where he belongs but doesn't necessarily _fit_ right now because well—it's been a while and he's not exactly _small_.

He gives her a moment to adjust, his cock hot and hard inside her. She moans his name again and nods that he can move. He sets a steady pace, her hips canting up to meet his.

" _Oh_ ," she whines out, feeling breathless and aching and _full,_ "you're so big."

His hips stutter.

"Say that again," he grunts, half playful, half serious, "just like that—with that little moan."

She snorts a laugh, rolling her eyes and _okay,_ maybe she shouldn't be laughing but they're finally here and he's so ridiculous and she's so in love.

The realisation makes her pause, fear crawling over her skin like a blanket. She shakes it off, refuses to be scared, because she's sure he feels it too. He might not say it, but he shows it. He shows it in his touch, his kiss, the way he listens to her and is vulnerable around her. He's different around her.

"Harder," she moans, "fuck me harder."

He growls his approval, pulling out before pushing back in to the hilt. His pace quickens, his muscles rippling under his skin, and she meets him thrust for thrust.

She wraps her legs around his hips, clenching tight around his length.

One of his hands snakes between their bodies, his thumb rubbing insistent circles on her clit.

He watches her expression, his eyes black. She burns under the intensity of it.

"Cum for me, Chloe," he murmurs, his hips snapping and hitting the perfect spot inside her, "cum on my cock."

With one more flick of her clit, she obeys. Her orgasm crashes over her, volcanic pleasure searing through her and eclipsing anything she ever _thought_ was pleasure in the past.

She shudders in his arms and it's his name she prays to instead of God.

She tightens around him, firing his second orgasm of the night. He buries his face in her neck, a heated growl rolling from his chest as he twitches and swells inside her. She gets the impression he won't leave it uneven, that he'll get some sort of twisted pleasure from making her come over and over before she leaves in the morning.

She holds him as he falls apart, her fingers casually drifting up and down his spine.

"Lucifer..." she breathes as they both come back down to earth, cold realisation settling over her.

She starts to panic, to overthink, her sensible side overwhelming her.

He reads her expertly. He _knows_ her.

He kisses her.

"Don't," he says gently, "can't you feel this?"

 _Stop thinking, Detective,_ his voice echoes in her mind, _it needn't be that serious._

"Can you?" she asks.

"I always could," he insists, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "have I not made the way I feel about you abundantly clear?"

He has. He's never lied to her.

"I know you want me," she shrugs, flinching slightly when she adds, "with no strings attached."

She hates how insecure she sounds; she was _never_ that girl.

He shakes his head slowly and his smile is devastatingly soft, all traces of humour wiped away.

"With _all_ the strings attached," he corrects.


End file.
